


The Way You Look Tonight

by thesadchicken



Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Heartache, M/M, Moving, and conflicted feelings, and the sweet lies, but also the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian is leaving. It seemed so inconsequential in the past, but now, it’s all he can think of.<br/>Set in the Deep Dish Nine universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Look Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta-ed, melancholic nonsense, written for deeply personal reasons. I felt like I had to write it, and sharing it will hopefully bring me some kind of peace. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story is set in Lady Yate-xel's Deep Dish Nine AU, where everyone is Human, Deep Space Nine is a pizza parlour and no one dies. Just playing with the characters, making them go through things I'd rather not face alone.

_I’m leaving_.

It hits him with a violent pang. He’s standing at the door of his apartment room, and he’s about to kick his shoes off, but he stops because suddenly it hits him. He’s leaving. 

Only three more nights, he’ll be spending three more nights in this bed, under this roof, and then it’ll be someplace else he’ll have to call home. He pauses at the door, leans against the wall, catches his breath. _God, I’m leaving_.

He feels empty for a second, like everything he planned on doing before became plainly pointless the moment he stepped into the room. Then another pang of realization slaps him in the face: he won’t feel this comfortable anywhere for months. He won’t be able to walk home drunkenly at two in the morning, slam the door shut and make his way to the bedroom in pitch darkness, barely bumping into anything because he knows the way like the back of his hand –he won’t be able to throw himself onto the couch, stick his nose into his books and not mind the documents scattered here and there over the living-room –or spill tea onto the rug and think ‘meh, it’s seen its fair share of horrors, I’ll clean it later’. And what about Kukalaka, sitting so perfectly content on his little shelf, what will happen to him? Will he ever find such a cozy place in Andor? Oh, the old shelf isn’t Paradise, it has its ups and downs and many imperfections but –but Julian is used to it, there. And yes, maybe he even likes it. He likes the dusty shelf and the worn-out rug and the couch, even though it has a few holes in it. He likes the stairway that leads outside, and he likes the neon signs that flicker in the night, he likes Quark’s and the slow flow of drunken patrons making their way in and out. He likes coming home after a long day of classes, or late night labs, and finding Denorios Avenue alive –sleepy, but still alive.

And he’s going to miss it. He always knew he would, but it seemed so inconsequential in the past. Now, it’s all he can think of.

He’s going to miss going to work, pushing the door open and waving a tired ‘hello’ at Jadzia or Ezri, listening to Miles complain over the counter as he fixes this or that, being yelled at by Kira –hell, he thinks he might even miss Worf’s Klingon Opera.

And then his thoughts travel to unwanted territories, and he shuts them down, _not now, please_ , _not now_. He pushes himself off the wall, slips his shoe back on and runs out of the apartment. He trots downstairs, trying to look unaffected. He pointedly avoids looking at the apartment doors as he passes them by. When he reaches the street, the sky has turned to a darker blue. He promises himself to take a stroll through the Pike memorial park tomorrow at sunset, when everything looks so still, like a photograph, _the magic hour_ …

He walks and watches the city change from day to night: Deep Dish Nine’s lights shine bright against the darkening sky; Quark’s isn’t even open yet; Nebula Coffee must be near closing hour… All these places are so familiar now. Will they still look the same, the next time he wanders around the city? And if they do, will his eyes still see them the way they are tonight?

He walks past Officer Ital. “Evening, Odo.”

“Good evening, doctor,” Odo nods, his face a placid mask of indifference, but his voice radiating amusement. _Ah, that nickname; still makes everyone smile!_

And he’s going to miss that too. The people here know him well. He’s even quite certain they know him better than his own parents do. The thought makes him feel oddly guilty for an instant. _They’ve adopted me, and_ _I’m abandoning them_. Except he isn’t really, is he? People come and go, that’s the way life works, and Julian is not a child, damn it!

There’s the Klingon restaurant, and Jada’s Bolian pie-shop, and that fancy Romulan restaurant Garak took him to–

And there it is, he feels the jolt in his chest, and his heart isn’t exactly breaking –it’s being slowly torn apart. He stops for a second, considers turning around and going back home – _oh, home_ – but decides against it. Fresh air is better; he keeps walking. His mind is being cruel. Memories are racing through it, old and new ones alike. He remembers a pair of curious blue eyes, a pale hand briefly resting on his shoulder, a flash of teeth, a blue scarf, a stolen kiss… He remembers the night he told Garak he’s moving. He remembers his sharp eyes turning distant, his honest grin fading into something small and accommodating and that was not at all his Garak –that was everyone else’s Garak. _Will he treat me that way when I leave?_ The idea is terrifying, and for a moment Julian feels like he might cry.

But he’ll be back someday. Garak will wait for him, he knows it. And even if he doesn’t –even if he goes back to Cardassia, even if he flies away to Gamma City– Julian will join him. What happens then? They live happily ever after? He’ll think about it when the time comes. For now, he wants reassurance. He wants to be told it’s all going to be alright, even if it isn’t. He needs someone to lie to him.

He’s been walking for a while now. He realizes he’s reached Chez Picard. Garak never took him to the French restaurant –but then again, Garak has never been one for Federation food. And now they’ll probably never go there. Julian stops and looks around him, and suddenly the city is full of places they’ll never go and things they’ll never do. He clenches his jaw and turns around; it’s getting late, better get enough sleep if he wants to be productive tomorrow.

Why does everything look so lovely tonight _?_ Oh, he knows it’s just him and his stupid, stupid melancholy, but _God, why did I even decide to leave_? He finds himself reconsidering his choice, but no, he’s being unreasonable, _stop it Julian, stop_ –

He finds himself rushing towards Garak’s shop. Panic is surging through his veins; he can even feel his hands trembling, _oh God_. He pushes the door open. The lights are already off but who cares, he knows his way to the back room. He sees Garak leaning over his work table, deep in thought, fingers distractedly rubbing his lower lip, and he tries to save the image in the back of his mind. But Garak hears him and gets up and the world is spinning too fast, slow down, _slow down so I can cherish every moment_ …

“Hello, my dear,” a concerned frown paints Garak’s face as he registers Julian’s nervousness; “is everything alright?”

He’s breathtakingly charming, in the dim light of the shop’s back room. And he’ll never be like this again, they’ll never stand here like this again, and Julian feels the tears burning their way up to his eyes, and ducks, and _oh, to hell with it_ –

He closes the distance between them, shoving his face into the older man’s shoulder. There’s a moment of startled realization, where everything is irregular breathing and silent understanding, then Garak’s arms slide up Julian’s back and hold him close, and a soft kiss is placed on Julian’s cheek.

“Lie to me, Elim. Tell me it’s going to be easy. Tell me I won’t notice the difference.”

Garak takes a shuddering breath, pressing even harder into the embrace. Julian feels him open his mouth, hesitate for a second, then close it and sigh. “You will be back sooner than you think,” he whispers, and it isn’t a very convincing lie, but one can hardly blame the man.

Julian pulls back slightly, just enough to see Elim’s face; soft blue eyes and lips drawn tight, _God, you’re perfect_ … “I want to remember you the way you look tonight.”

And Garak’s lips tilt slightly upwards, his hands cupping Julian’s face gently, “The night is young,” he breathes, and it’s a promise to make the moment last forever.


End file.
